Page 12 of Mile High With the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC #10)
RORY
“Rise and shine, baby girl.” Diesel pats my bare ass.
I moan in protest, burying my face deeper in the sheets, and pulling them around me like a safe little cocoon. After our little, um, talk, last night I slept like a log, but if I wake up, that means I have to deal with what the day will bring and I’m not ready.
Diesel laughs. “I'm gonna shower and brush my teeth. You got that long before it's your turn.”
“I thought you were one of the good guys,” I grumble. How can he be so cruel as to force me out of bed already?
He grins and flicks his tongue at me suggestively. “Baby, don’t lie to yourself. Ain’t no way you ever thought we were the good guys.”
Yeah, yeah. Bleary-eyed, I look around for a clock, spotting one on his nightstand.
Noon?
Holy crap, I can't remember the last time I've slept that late. But resting my eyes a little longer isn't that bad, right? The next thing I know, he's there again, dressed and smelling nice. I must've dozed off again.
“Your turn, Sleeping Beauty. Come on. Much as I'd love to spend the whole fucking day in bed with you, I've got duties. Besides, I'm sure you’ve got people worrying about you. Somewhere to go home to.”
“Right,” I deflect without elaborating. My stomach growls. “Are we getting breakfast?”
He whistles in appreciation when I sit up and the covers slip down to reveal my breasts.
It seems wrong that there aren’t more marks on me after last night, but my skin is clear aside from some pink spots where his short beard rubbed, and a few hickies.
After everything he’s seen, covering up seems a little pointless.
Besides, I like it when he looks at me like that.
“Bull and Shrapnel are waiting for us at the clubhouse. There should be some food there, or we can ride out and grab something.”
The shower blissfully washes away the night, the hot water streaming over my face.
I need to figure out my next move. My original plan had been to slip away from Dad at the airport and get on the first flight to anywhere before I contacted him about shutting down Hermes, but now I have no idea what to do. I don't even know if he’s alive.
“Have you seen anything on the news about the crash yet?” I ask Diesel after getting dressed.
I could turn on my phone and check, but it would be like turning on a giant ‘I’m here!’ sign and I don’t want to do that until I have to.
Assuming Dad made it.
My chest goes tight. He never understood how to connect with me on anything other than his own interests—mainly computers—but he’s still the only father I have. Hopefully Mason and Tim got him out of there. As harsh as it feels right now, there's nothing I can do either way.
I've got enough money in a private account to last me for a while, but not forever. God, if I could stay here for even a few more days, that'd make life a lot easier. And if I’m being honest with myself, I'm really not ready to be alone. Every time I let my mind drift, I'm watching flames erupt from the plane while people are fleeing. Diesel says they aren’t the good guys, and I’m not stupid. I know in the eyes of the law, they’re violent criminals, but I’ve seen them laugh, tease each other, and put their own lives on the line for me.
Good is relative. Dad donates a lot of his profits every year.
That’s good. But he’s also responsible for Hermes, a program we created that straight up bypasses even the most advanced network security.
He wants to use it to disrupt the status quo even if a lot of people get hurt in the process. That’s not so good.
Diesel checks his phone, scrolling and tapping the screen as he checks. “Not really, which is strange. It should be all over the news, but I bet Whittaker and the others are doing their best to keep it quiet.”
“So you think he made it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice curious, not desperate.
“If I had to bet I’d say yes, but he could be injured and they’re waiting to see how he does before making announcements. Do you have to work today?”
I shake my head.
Even though it isn't far, Diesel wants to take his motorcycle. Bull’s and Shrapnel’s are missing as well when we open the parking area. I manage to mount up the first try this time, and smile as I press my cheek to the back of his vest.
A couple of guys wave us through the massive gate, shirtless in the July heat, exposing their tattoos and how ripped they are.
We pull into a courtyard in front of the looming warehouse with the huge club logo on the front.
Beyond the warehouse, I get the impression there’s a whole little neighborhood hiding behind the walls.
Complete with houses and a massive garage where men are working on their motorcycles.
Bikers mill around the compound, going about their day.
A lot of them have beers, even this early.
There’s hardly a shirt in sight and more six-packs than the beer aisle at a supermarket.
Not that I'm looking when I've already got Diesel in front of me. Much.
Motorcycles are parked anywhere there’s space, but we ride right up to the front, stopping between two that I recognize as Bull and Shrapnel's.
Diesel guides me up metal stairs and in through the heavy front door of the warehouse.
I have absolutely no idea what to expect.
Coming into the AC is nice, though. I fan my shirt as I follow him into what looks like a giant playroom for men.
The walls are painted black and covered with motorcycle paraphernalia.
There's a giant Screaming Eagles MC logo on one of them, flanked by two American flags.
Then there's a couple of pool tables, one of them in use.
In back are some couches where three members are yelling at the football game on the big screen TV.
An open area for… I don't know, dancing?
Fighting? Push up competitions, for all I know.
On one side there are booths kind of like a diner, where a couple of guys are nursing their beers, and on the other side, there's a bar where I recognize the backs of Bull and Shrapnel.
Up along the wall on the far side of the room is a metal staircase that leads to a little platform with a door and big windows that overlook the whole common area. The blinds are drawn, though.
“New recruit?” a burly biker in a dark red T-shirt asks.
Diesel flips him off. “Fuck off, Zero. She’s just visiting.”
The biker grins, not bothered by Diesel’s grumpiness. “Gotta start somewhere. We could use some new pussy now that Lace is leaving. What’dya think, sexy? The pay is shit but the benefits are out of this world.”
“What does he mean?” I whisper to Diesel.
“Later.” He turns his blue eyes on Zero. “Not every woman who walks in those doors is here for sex.”
My cheeks flare pink. Considering how last night went, I’m not totally sure that’s true, but I’m not going to argue.
“Not with that attitude they aren’t,” Zero scoffs. “I’ll see if Angel’s around. Maybe she wants to play.”
Bull turns his head and spots us. “Hey! ‘Bout time you dragged your ass in here.”
Diesel takes my hand and leads towards the bar where the others are. “Ignore Zero. He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s rare to see women around the clubhouse during the day that aren’t sluts or someone’s old lady.”
“Charming.” I wrinkle my nose. “I bet all the girls love being called old and sluts.”
Shrapnel's laugh is dry. “Some of them do. It’s a badge of honor in the club. Gives them status. Means we like and trust them enough to give them a place. It’s tradition. Don’t judge what you don’t understand.”
“Tradition is what people say when they don’t have a strong enough argument.” I wince. Maybe keeping that to myself might’ve been the better choice.
“You’re not wrong,” Bull says with a snort.
“But it’s not your fight. They know what they’re signing up for and don’t need you to defend them.
I dare you to spend any time with the women around here and tell me they can’t speak up for themselves.
My ma’s old man rides with the Misfits up north and they call their club girls ‘patch bunnies’ instead of sluts. ”
“That’s a lot cuter.”
Shrapnel shakes his head. “Look around. We aren’t weekend warriors. Anyone looking for cute would last twenty minutes.”
“And women can’t be members?” I ask.
“Nah.” Diesel holds up his hand when he sees me open my mouth. “And before you get going, I know you’ve probably got feelings about that, but it is the way it is. There are clubs that have women in their ranks, but they’re usually smaller and less… rough.”
“Don’t forget the Devil’s Crones.” A new biker walks behind the bar.
He’s tall, with his head mostly shaved, showing off a red dragon tattoo that snakes its way around his scalp and down his neck.
“Those bitches’ll take your balls off if they heard you talking like they’re nice .
” The way he says it sounds almost approving.
“Okay, okay. What does all this make me? A slut ?” I can’t help the slight disapproval I put on the word.
“You’re just a guest, angel,” Bull answers. “You’re with us.”
Hearing him say that I’m with them makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside, which seems wrong after this conversation, but it’s been rare for me to feel like I really belonged anywhere.
This might be just for now, but I can imagine being part of their little team.
A secret mile high club just for us that I can remember even when they have long forgotten me.
“And now that it's all cleared up, do you assholes want something to drink or can I go see if Jewel’s awake yet?” Chef growls. “She was out with Emily and Shelby last night, and I swear to fucking God, any time you get three or more old ladies together they’re as bad as any of the men.”
“Anything with caffeine?” I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have coffee when I woke up.